26
T hey all left the diner together, a laughing, jostling, weary, excited group.
Then together they all froze. Bailey and Elena and Berto and Emelia and Charlie and Maud and Dillon and Olivia. They stood in a velvet dusk, not a breath of wind, the air shining with the sunset’s ethereal light.
The sunset.
The clouds bunched tight over the northern horizon, a portent of another storm possibly coming their way. But just then they were silenced by a wonder that Olivia thought could only be described as glorious.
Claire must have seen how they stood, seven faces pointed straight up, mouths open in wonder. She stepped out, then returned inside and called to her husband. Thirty seconds later the two of them emerged, along with the waitress and most of the other patrons.
The evening star shone in a crystal clear sky, a single beacon of a hope so powerful Olivia actually shed tears.
Then they heard voices.
Footfalls took the place of falling rain, a soft patter that built as more and more people joined them, everyone headed toward the sound.
They climbed three blocks, took the turning, rushed past the town hall and fire station, and arrived.
The street in front of the old Catholic church was jammed. More people arrived with every passing moment. They were met with volunteers passing around song sheets. Others handed out candles whose bases were wrapped in little paper sleeves to protect the holders from dripping wax. The gathering was led by the town’s vicars, standing on the church’s porch, keeping time. Candles were lit, places found in the music, and together they all joined in.
It came upon a midnight clear, that glorious song of old.